


Examination

by cystemic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Dromund Kaas, Gen, Imperial Intelligence, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Keeper - Freeform, Mind Games, Not for the squeamish, Sith Empire, Soren - Freeform, Thana Vesh - Freeform, Torture, go read some nice fluff instead, pretty graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cystemic/pseuds/cystemic
Summary: The end of the final round of examinations at the Imperial Academy outside Kaas City is coming to a close. Only one cadet remains untested in the art of interrogation but his assignment is far from orthodox. As the only alien cadet, Soren faces great scrutiny from the Imperial overseers who've provided him with a seasoned war veteran for this examination. He must prove himself capable of retrieving the truth if he wishes to join Imperial Intelligence.





	

Three of the examiners leisurely made their way into the viewing room and took their seats by a two-way transparisteel pane. It provided an exceptional view of the interrogation chamber which had been outfitted to resemble a ramshackle cantina on some no name planet in the Mid Rim. 

They could see overturned chairs, tables, lounges and blasterholes scattered about the room to emulate a real world scenario. As well, weapons had been carefully distributed throughout. Rifles hanging from chair backs, knives sticking out of tables. Blasters, flame throwers, grenades lying about like they'd been forgotten after an exceptionally rowdy brawl. 

A bar lined the back. The high table curved along the wall, holding up many glasses, tumblers, flutes and bottles. Fruits and foods on cracked plates, covered in insects, fermenting an awful scent which permeated throughout the drab cantina setting.

The Imperial examiners could not smell it however. They were safely nestled in the crisp, clean viewing room above. Comfortable armchairs and refreshments a certainty as they waited for the rest of their peers to arrive.

Lieutenant Bronum sighed. 

"This is a waste of time." 

"I agree." Overseer Gumshill nodded. 

"Look at him, cut up like a bantha steak and he still won't talk. We had to dunk the scum in a kolto tank after the last interrogation." 

He pointed to the man tied up in the middle of the cantina and shook his head.

"Well, we can't have him die now, can we?" Bronum chuckled. 

"You think he might be getting tired of this game?" Armsmaster Huckall sipped at his wine. "Maybe this is the moment he finally breaks."

"Even if it is. This alien isn't going to be the one to do it," Gumshill scoffed. "Can't believe they even let it into the Academy. Disgusting."

"Well, you know Intelligence." Bronum raised an eyebrow. "They've got eyes and ears everywhere. And some friends in very high places." He winked.

"Are you talking about Maelstrom?" Huckall narrowed his eyes.

Bronum smiled slyly and leaned in closer. 

"I hear the Headmaster paid a visit to the Keeper yesterday," he whispered. 

"You think Intelligence is pushing for an alien operative?" Huckall asked suspiciously.

"We've got plenty of alien operatives." Gumshill rolled his eyes. "Just not in the capital where we have to look at them." 

"Exactly," Bronum pointed out. "Why the Imperial Academy on Dromund Kaas? Why not the Training Outpost on Soruus?"

"Or Nar Shaddaa," Huckall nodded. "Those fat slugs are growing fatter by the day."

"Urgh, don't even talk to me about the Hutts," Gumshill moaned. "I've got six cadets I had to suspend because they shot up one of Baguro's casinos."

Huckall laughed. "Oh, to be young and foolish again..."

"I remember when we could put a blaster bolt in a Mandalorian's skull and no one would bat an eye," Gumshill reminisced. "Now they've given them their own wing in the Citadel!"

"Mmm, I heard Darth Malgus was backing that. Did you hear his whole spiel on diversity and strength when it opened? Ridiculous." Bronum shook his head.

"It's enough to wake the Emperor, I tell you," Gumshill spat.

"We wouldn't be discussing it if it was," Bronum poured himself more wine. "The Dark Council really needs to sort out its priorities."

The door to the viewing room slid open. 

A tall Imperial officer with sandy greying hair and dark eyes stepped inside, closely followed by an older gentleman with a receding hairline and a stern look about him.

"Oh, Headmaster," Gumshill stood. 

"We've been waiting for you." He held out his hand.

Tormund Maelstrom shook it.

"Apologies for the delay. Sergeant Meakham is unable to attend so I had to find a replacement for the examination. This is Drill Instructor Loras Feddick," he introduced his companion.

"Ah, yes. We've met on occasion," Gumshill noted. "Maelstrom rope you in at the last minute?"

"You could say that." Feddick shrugged. "I must admit, I'm rather curious to see what Ruger has to say."

"As are we all," Huckall nodded and stood. "I'm Velin Huckall, the Armsmaster. You've probably seen me about the range." 

He shook Feddick's hand. 

"And this is Lieutenant Salazar Bronum." Huckall nodded at the portly man trying to rise out of his chair.

The brown-haired, mustachioed Lieutenant finally escaped his comfortable seat and shook the Drill Instructor's hand, chuckling light-heartedly. 

"Not as spry as I used to be. But it's the reason I'm teaching instead of fighting, haha."

"I hear that," Feddick nodded. 

"Shall we, then?" He turned to Maelstrom.

"Let's get this over with. I've already got Keeper breathing down my neck to get a confession out of him," Tormund growled as he sat down in one of the armchairs, throwing Feddick a weary glance.

"Is that why you were over at the spook pen yesterday?" Bronum tumbled back into his chair.

"Mmm," Maelstrom grumbled, tapping the button on his armrest. 

Several green overlays appeared in front of him, projected from his armrest. On his left, a profile of Captain Ruger T. Vesh was illuminated in blue. Beside it, a profile of Cadet #2882765 and finally, an incredibly detailed scorecard. 

Before the examiners was a flatholo livefeed of a little blue man in an empty room. He sat quietly on the bench provided, waiting patiently for someone to call.

Tormund keyed the intercom as the rest of the them sat down and pulled up their overlays. 

"Cadet #2882765 ," he said, watching the livefeed. 

The alien didn't move.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"Are you ready to begin?" Tormund growled, expecting complaint. They'd kept him waiting for the best part of an hour. Any other cadet would have protested the insensibility but the Chiss didn't seem to mind.

"Yes," he said simply, fiery red eyes burrowing into the wall opposite.

Maelstrom frowned.

"Your final examination will test your ability to interrogate an enemy prisoner for information," he explained. 

"The man in the room next door is bound and gagged. There is an assortment of weapons for you to use as you see fit. You are not to leave the room until the interrogation is finished. You are not to inflict fatal injury on the prisoner. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want his name. His occupation. His mission and why he is being detained. Each additional piece of intel will increase your score," Tormund droned on. 

"You will be timed and graded on the information you procure, as well as the speed with which you extract it. The interrogation will be recorded and you will be restrained if we judge you have gone too far. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," the Chiss replied automatically.

"Very well," the Headmaster keyed the door controls. "Proceed."

The examiners watched as the door slid open on the holofeed and the alien rose from the bench, leaving his tiny prison. He walked into the faux cantina and they closed their overlays, leaving only their scorecards visible. Several livefeeds of the room were displayed on viewscreens in front of them. Every angle of the interrogation chamber perfectly captured and presented for their scrutiny.

They watched the cadet step into the room. The door slid shut behind him and the light grew dim. His burning red eyes glowed brightly in the darkness as he looked around, assessing his surroundings, his face covered in shadows and cunning. 

He examined the filthy floors, the toppled chairs and damaged tables. The weapons and firearms that were placed so enticingly where he could see. And then the bar with its many multi-coloured bottles, filled with suspicious liquids and food plates.

Finally, he came to examine the prisoner in the center of the dingy cantina. A rugged Human of forty and something years whose auburn hair was peppered with grey and his beard was unkept and coarse. The prisoner garb that covered his body was sliced and torn and blood-stained from previous interrogations and torture sessions. Every visible piece of his skin was covered in faint white lines, recently sealed with kolto. 

The Chiss pulled the gag out of his mouth and let the man breath but he didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge his newest inquisitor. He stubbornly stared down at his feet and seethed. 

The cadet regarded him for a moment, expecting words of defiance or criticism but none came.

He cupped the man's chin with his long blue fingers and pulled it up to look at his face. The prisoner stared up at him defiantly but his gaze soon faltered when he looked into those burning red eyes. 

The Chiss kept his face expressionless. His eyes somehow cold despite the glow. Calculating. Analyzing.

"I don't envy you, Captain Vesh," he said quietly, letting go of his chin.

Ruger spat in his face, anger sparking at the mention of his name.

"They sent a beast to do a man's job," he hissed. "Just kill me and be done with it!"

The Chiss sighed. 

"I'm afraid I've been forbidden from killing you." He wiped his face calmly. 

"Your mutilation has been encouraged, however. Though I fail to see why I would need so many weapons."

"Did they think you'd intimidate me?" the prisoner scoffed, shaking his head. 

"I've see your people pouring drinks in a disgusting cantina just like this one, hustling the Merchant's Guild on Ilianos, pissing out a fire on an XS junker. You don't frighten me, kid."

"I don't intend to," the Chiss shrugged. 

"Might I fix you a drink?" he asked, eyeing the bar against the far wall. 

Ruger looked up at him quizzically but the cadet remained expressionless.

"What? You're serious?"

"It's been a while since I've had one myself..." He wandered off towards the bar. 

"Any preferences?"

"I don't want anything you're giving me," Ruger growled, wary of poisons and deceit.

"Very well," the Chiss replied over his shoulder. He glided over to the bar and began examining the bottles on the table, opening and smelling each one as a sommelier might.

Ruger tried to look over his shoulder but he was still bound to the chair in the middle of the room and couldn't move very well.

The examiners began looking over at each other with irritation, whispering under their breath of the impropriety and deducting points on their scorecards.

"I knew this was a waste of time..." Bronum muttered under his breath.

"He hasn't even introduced himself." Huckall frowned. "Turned his back on the prisoner."

"Poor form, indeed." Gumshill shook his head.

Maelstrom and Feddick said nothing, observing the Chiss as he found the bottle he was looking for and poured himself a drink.

"You seem a little tense, Ruger," he said, pulling a knife out from the counter it was stuck in. 

The blade twanged, reverberating in freedom. 

"Really? What gave you that idea?" Vesh scoffed, trying to look over his shoulder.

"The perspiration on your forehead. The croak in your voice..." 

He sliced open a jelifruit. 

"The twitch in your shoulders. The shortness of your breath..." 

Ice tinkled against the tumbler into which it was dropped. 

"The arhythmia in your heart as I speak..."

"I'm not afraid of you," Ruger spat.

"Perhaps," his voice drifted over the prisoner's shoulder. "But you're definitely afraid of what I'll do to you."

"It can't be worse than what I've been through," Ruger denied. He gave up trying to look over his shoulder and stared dejectedly down at his shoes again.

"Mmmm, from what I can tell, you've been through four seperate interrogations. Each consisting of different forms of torture. Cutting, electrocution, strangulation, water boarding."

"You read my file. Very impressive," Ruger said sarcastically.

"If I'd read your file, we wouldn't be having this conversation." 

He drifted out from behind the prisoner, carrying a chair in one hand and two tumblers in the other. 

"In fact, one of my goals here today was to find out your name."

"You know who I am," Ruger growled.

"Not entirely." The Chiss set down the chair in front of him. 

"I know that your name is Captain Ruger Theodor Vesh. An Imperial traitor according to the whispers inside the Academy. The rest is merely speculation." 

He sat down face to face with the prisoner.

"The Academy?" Ruger frowned.

The Chiss took a sip of the golden liquid in one of the tumblers and set the other down on the floor. It contained several pieces of cut fruit and nothing else. Ruger looked at it and shook his head.

"You're just a cadet, aren't you?" He narrowed his eyes. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"On the contrary," the Chiss replied. "Improvised interrogations are my specialty." 

There was a faint hint of a smile on his face but it quickly disappeared into the tumbler as he drank.

"Really? This is your idea of interrogation?"

"Would you prefer I carve open your flesh or electrocute you as my predecessors have done?" He raised an eyebrow. "There's probably a stunner lying around here, somewhere."

"I'm not telling you anything," Ruger growled.

"But you've already said so much," he shrugged, sipping his drink and rolling it through his mouth.

"Nothing important."

" _Everything_ is important," the Chiss affirmed, his eyes narrowing with cunning.

Ruger looked him over again. 

Sapphire skin and midnight blue hair. Tall, lean, young. Not more than thirty years. A little old for a cadet but too young to be an officer. Sly enough to be a spy but not an inquisitor. He didn't seem cruel or unkind. Or at least, he didn't pretend to be like the others.

"Who are you?" the prisoner asked.

"Nobody." He shrugged and kicked a leg over the other, settling into his seat, glass in hand. There was a coaster stuck to the bottom of his boot but he didn't seem to notice.

"You don't have a name? A number?" Ruger raised an eyebrow.

"Cadet #2882765," he rattled off the digits. 

"The Imperials at the Academy call me a great many things." He took a sip of his drink. 

"Alien scum, Red-Eyes, the Blue Menace..." There was a hint of that smile again. "You can call me Soren."

"Soren..." Ruger frowned, taking a deep breath. 

"I'm not gonna tell you a blasted thing, you blue degenerate! Go back to the slave pen, where they found you!" He spat at him again.

"You really want me to hurt you," the Chiss observed, wiping the gunk off his face with a practiced movement. 

"Almost like you want to be punished." He raised a knowing eyebrow. 

"You feel guilty for a crime you can never atone for," he whispered, "and every moment you spend suffering is time given to someone else..."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ruger snarled.

"Perhaps." Soren shrugged, swivelling the ice in his tumbler. 

He fell silent for a while, watching something shift behind Ruger's chair. There was a curious look in his eye, something he didn't recognize. Not that there was much to see in the pupil-less orbs.

"So, what?" Ruger croaked through the silence. "Am I supposed to stare at your ugly blue mug until I crack?"

"I would definitely appreciate your cooperation. It would also be in your best interest to talk to me."

"Not in your wildest dreams," the prisoner snarled at him.

"I don't dream..." he mused, sculling the last of his drink and setting the tumbler down beside him.

Ruger rolled his eyes. Torture was more appealing at this point.

"Let's talk about you, Captain," he said, folding his arms and letting a hand drift up to his face.

"I'm not telling you anything," Ruger hissed.

"Judging by the accent, I suspect you were born and raised on Dromund Kaas. Graduated the Imperial Academy. Assigned to an unimportant squad in the Imperial Army and gradually worked your way up. Promoted to Captain after your impeccable service on the front lines. Possibly Sullust or Balmorra..."

Ruger furrowed his brow, the accuracy was a little unsettling but nothing he couldn't have read in his file.

"The callouses on your hands suggest you favour heavy weaponry, particularly assault cannons. They require a lot of strength and control, something you have in spades and are unafraid to show it. You gladly offer up your flesh like a Human shield but I suspect it's not Empire you're protecting..."

Ruger's eyes flashed with concern.

"You likely have a family, here in Kaas City. A wife. And a child which you so fervently strive to protect. A son?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ruger's face soured.

"A daughter, then," he corrected himself. "One who you love more than living. Which is why you refuse to speak to the Imperial interrogators." 

He narrowed his fiery eyes. 

"You think every moment you delay the inevitable is another lightyear she travels away from Dromund Kaas. You secretly hope for death because you cannot bear the thought of betraying her, betraying the Empire. And you know that the longer this continues, that strength, that control which you exhibit so fiercely will simply fade away."

Ruger swallowed. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about..." he growled but with much less gusto than before.

"How far do you think she'll get before they catch her?" Soren asked calmly. "Ziost? Felucia? Saleucami?"

Ruger didn't look at him.

"Or were you hoping she'd make it all the way to Nar Shaddaa?" He raised a dark eyebrow. 

"Perhaps you even planned for it. Hired some mercenaries to smuggle her offworld, distracted Imperial Forces by hijacking a walker and wreaking havoc on the new developments outside Kaas City. Pretended to be a terrorist so they'd start an investigation..."

"All so you could hide your little girl from the Sith." 

Ruger was silent but the examiners could see he was shell-shocked. He opened his mouth to speak but thought better and closed it again. Anything he said could and would reveal his motives to the incredibly perceptive Chiss who watched him with subdued interest.

"You seem like a patriot, Captain," he tilted his head. "You probably gave her a common name. Perhaps Elara? Selise?"

Ruger jammed his mouth shut and frowned, staring down at the floor.

"Thana?" the Chiss said pleasantly.

Ruger's heart skipped a beat and the Chiss twitched his ears. 

"Thana Vesh," he rolled the name off his tongue and Ruger winced. "Imperial fugitive and Force-sensitive daughter of the traitorous Captain Vesh."

Ruger kept his eyes down, staring at the vine roach that was scuttling over the cadet's boot. 

He was sweating. His arms and legs were bound to the chair but the tips of his fingers were trembling. 

The examiners in the viewing room slid closer to the edge of their seats, their scorecards forgotten and their criticisms subdued, waiting.

The vine roach Ruger had been following with his eyes crawled over to the tumbler beside Soren's chair and twitched its antennae at the sticky fruit inside. It lingered for a moment and then crawled up the side and into the glass, ready to nibble the fermented delicacy. Soren kicked up his leg and gently placed his foot on top of the glass, sealing it with the coaster stuck to his boot.

"You know what I detest most about Dromund Kaas?" he asked as he picked up the caged insect.

Ruger gulped as he watched the vine roach fidgeting inside its prison, still eating but nervously twitching at the change in altitude.

"It's the climate," he said, holding up the roach so that Ruger could see. 

"The sweltering heat and humidity that blankets you, suffocates you, every minute of every day." 

"It forces the fauna to adapt. To harden and to grow. And even the tiniest space roach that arrived with the first settlers on Dromund Kaas has grown to twice the size of its predecessors."

The insect inside the glass crawled up the walls of its prison and onto the coaster. Hanging upside down, it wondered why it could not escape as easily as it had entered.

"They've also developed a taste for the glucose in Human blood," the Chiss tilted his head down, spilling shadows over his eyes, his face.

Ruger stared at the insect. Large but still no threat to a man his size. 

"I won't talk," he shook his head defiantly.

"No," the Chiss whispered. "You will scream."

The blade he'd concealed in his boot slipped into his hand and came down on Ruger's foot.

He groaned in pain but didn't give him the satisfaction of screaming. 

"You'll have to do better than that," the prisoner grinned defiantly.

"Did I say I was finished?" 

The Chiss twisted the blade with a deft hand, skillfully avoiding any veins or arteries and pulling it out with a jerk.

Ruger hissed and spat but he didn't scream. He sucked air in through his teeth and weathered the pain. He'd done this before and he'd do it again.

Soren held the knife over the tumblr, patiently waiting for Ruger's blood to drip down the blade and onto the coaster.

Several bright red drops stained the flimsiplast and bloomed into swirls under the vine roach's feet. It scittered about, twitching its antennae. Its movements grew faster and more erratic with every drop.

"Where is she, Ruger?" Soren asked politely.

"I don't know who you're talking about." He shook his head, wincing through the pain. 

"Thana Vesh. Your daughter. Where did you send her?" he asked again.

Ruger grit his teeth, refusing to answer, turning his head away.

"Do you think you're protecting her?" he asked curiously. "Do you think an untrained Force-sensitive can outrun the Empire?" 

He leaned forward.

"Even if she somehow slips through their fingers, the Republic won't be far behind..." 

His bright red eyes burned into Ruger's mind.

"Imagine: Thana Vesh, Padawan of the Jedi Order, Protector of the Republic, Enemy of the Empire, Sith Slayer..."

"No! She would never..." Ruger hissed but stopped himself. "I mean..."

The Chiss observed him carefully. 

"What, did you mean?" he said, as the vine roach wriggled inside the tumbler in his hand.

"N-nothing," he winced.

"Do you not have a daughter named Thana Vesh?" the Chiss asked pointedly but Ruger did not reply. 

"You can answer the question now or have your former home raided by Imperial Intelligence," he said calmly. "Records don't lie."

Ruger digested this information and glanced up at the darkened transparisteel where the examiners were secretly observing them.

"I do," he admitted. 

"And does she not show Force-sensitivity?" The Chiss stared him down.

"No," Ruger growled. "I stole an Imperial walker using my clearance codes, I hired a slicer to reprogram the droids' hostility settings. I destroyed the new development of Kaas City because I hate the Empire. I'm a terrorist who hates the Sith, so execute me."

Soren sighed and frowned.

"I suggest you reconsider your response," he said. "For both your sakes."

Ruger spat at him again.

"And I'm beginning to see why you were gagged." He wiped the spit away for the third time.

"If you agree to this confession and the Empire finds your daughter, she will not be sent to Korriban. She will be executed. Is that what you want?"

"She's dead, either way," Ruger hissed.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"Where did you send her?"

He shook his head.

"Please tell me where you sent her," he made one final plea.

Ruger shook his head and looked down, away from the Chiss and the bug in his cup. At the ground where his shoes met the floor, where one of them stood torn and bloodied by the knife in Soren's hand. 

"Just do it," he mumbled under his breath.

"You know not what you ask," the cadet whispered with a cautionary tone. 

"The vine roach has tasted the sugar in your blood. And when I release it from this container, it will call in its friends to feast."

"They will burrow through your flesh and lay eggs where it is warmest. The secretions from their poulus glands will slow your heart rate and keep you from bleeding out. "

"It will be slow, painful, torturous. But you won't die. Your body will become their nest and your anguish will not end until you tell me what I want to know."

"Now I ask you again," he frowned. "Where did you send Thana Vesh?"

Ruger looked away, maintaining his silence. He wasn't afraid of a roach. There was no way it could crawl up inside him like he said. That only happened to corpses. 

His eyes drifted up to the tumbler and stared at the insect inside. The fruit beside it. The fermented remains of jelifruit smelled exactly like...

"Very well." 

Soren sighed, lifting the coaster and tipping the glass over Ruger's foot.

The piece of fruit went first, tumbling out and landing near his shoe. The vine roach scittered around the side of the glass before spreading its translucent wings and fluttering down to the ground. It picked at the fruit a little more and then caught the scent of Ruger's wound. Its many scuttling feet clambered up the side of his boot and made to crawl in but he kicked out, attempting to throw it off.

He was still tied down, both arms and legs bound and with his foot mangled, the roach had little trouble holding on. The tiny hairs on its feet stuck to the shoe and it slowly but surely made its way up to the sliced portion and disappeared inside.

Ruger grimaced uncomfortably, shaking his foot with all the strength he had and then it sank in. 

His eyes widened and he gasped for breath as the roach tunneled into his body. He throttled against the seat, trying to shake it out but it was too late. It was already inside him.

Soren followed the roach's progress through Ruger's twitching and wincing motions, pointing his blade at the bulge under his raggedy clothes to keep track.

"I can stop this at any time," he said very clearly as the prisoner suppressed a scream. "All you have to do is tell me where you sent Thana Vesh." 

"Go to hell," he breathed but the strain was getting to him.

The roach tore through his foot and burrowed into his ankle and finally - Ruger screamed. 

Hard and long. Painful to hear and to see. He grunted and fought back but the insect just kept burrowing and he screamed again.

Soren calmly watched the roach-shaped bulge ascend up his shin and just below his kneecap, he struck out. 

The blade slipped through his tendons and scraped at the cartilage, blocking the insect's path. The movement was so swift and the blade so sharp that Ruger didn't feel it entering his body at first. Only the pause of the roach crawling inside his leg.

"Where did you send Thana Vesh?" the Chiss asked calmly.

Ruger gasped, gritting his teeth as he weathered the pain.

"Where did you send Thana Vesh?" he asked again.

"Argh," Ruger winced as the pain in his knee began radiating through him. "Nnngh..."

The Chiss waited. Patiently observing his victim's reaction while the roach wriggled around under the blade. 

When he was sure that Ruger would not talk, he swiftly removed the knife and sliced away the ligaments, pulling another tortured scream out the prisoner.

The roach quickly found the opening the blade had left in Ruger's knee and crawled inside searching for warmth and blood. A dribble of yellow pus trickled out of the wound as the roach secreted its liquid plaster to stem the blood and slow his heart. 

Soren pointed the blade at Ruger's thigh, listening to his anguished screams as the insect crawled up through his leg. And when it was mid-way to his hip, the cunning Chiss brought about his other hand and pinned the roach down with a finger. It wriggled beneath his grasp, sending waves of pain through the prisoner's body. Waves of screams ringing through the torture chamber.

"How much do you want to bet it heads for your crotch next, mmm?" he whispered in between the moans.

Ruger hissed and spat and wrenched his body against the chair but the Chiss held it steady, crushing Ruger's foot with his own. The prisoner fought against the pain and when there was a lull in his screaming, his inquisitor spoke again.

"Where did you send Thana Vesh?" The words rang out loud and clear.

"No..." Ruger wheezed, "Nowhere." Breathless and tired.

"And where is Nowhere?" Soren narrowed his fiery red eyes, looking for answers in the mottley Captain's face.

But Ruger spat at him again and grunted, regaining the strength to resist just for that moment.

"Very well." Soren released his finger, wiping away the spit with back of his hand. "We'll see where the journey takes us."

The roach wriggled free without Soren's grasp and burrowed deeper into Ruger's thigh and up his hip, disappearing into the crease of his bent leg. The prisoner howled and moaned in pain, his screams piercing through the transparisteel pane that divided the examiners from the chamber itself.

"Emperor's beard," Bronum whimpered under his breath, shifting uneasily in his seat.

Feddick templed his fingers over his face thoughtfully and Maelstrom gripped the rest of his armchair a little tighter than necessary. The strain of the prisoner was palpable.

Soren patiently waited for the roach to reveal itself and quite soon his keen eyes spotted it ripping through Ruger's stomach and detouring around his intestinal tract in squiggly trails.

"You're one of the lucky ones, then," he observed soulessly, pointing the blade at the roach once again.

It traced a convoluted path through the prisoner's organs, eliciting an unimaginable volume of screams and quite soon Ruger shouted himself hoarse. His voice broke before he did.

"Where did you send Thana Vesh?" Soren asked him again. "Where is Nowhere?"

Ruger fought through the pain. The Chiss had gauged his threshold correctly after observing his wounds and chosen the perfect level of agony to influence the swarthy Captain.

The roach suddenly made a beeline for his heart and Soren thrust his blade into Ruger's chest, seperating the insect from the beating organ with a thin metal barrier.

"Not just yet." He narrowed his eyes, denying the insect passage. 

"Tell me, where is Nowhere?"

The prisoner looked down at the knife lodged in his chest, gasping at the wound in his lungs. He was close to breaking. His expression was one of fear now, not defiance and the Chiss did not give an inch.

But Ruger gritted his teeth and said nothing. He decided the wound was fatal and if made by anyone else, it would have been.

"I haven't pierced your heart," Soren said calmly, lifting up the blade by a millimeter so that Ruger could feel it beating. 

"Just your lung. But my little friend is going to help you with that. Unless you tell me where you sent Thana Vesh."

Ruger's eyes widened as he felt the steel beneath his heart. The Chiss wasn't going to let him die easily. He wasn't going to let him die at all.

"Nowhere," he rasped again. "Port Nowhere."

"Mmmm, and where is Port Nowhere?" his inquisitor asked calmly.

But just then, the roach broke way from the blade it had been wriggling under and made a small detour around it towards Ruger's left arm. Soren quickly pulled out the blade and thrust it in vertically to shield his heart from the other side.

Ruger sputtered as his lung was pierced a second time but as he looked down, the yellow pus which had escaped his knee began oozing out of the wound in his chest, sealing it up so that he could breathe again.

Soren watched the insect beating against the blade through the bulge in Ruger's skin with something akin to irritation. But soon it gave up on his heart and began tunneling the other way, into his arm.

Ruger gasped through the pain, there was no voice left in him to scream and Soren didn't wait to ask the question.

"Where is Port Nowhere?" he said forcefully. "Tell me so I can end this."

Ruger shivered and sputtered and wheezed. 

"...station...in the Gorvus Sector...just get it out, please..." he begged.

"Mid-Rim? Who's with her?"

"m-mother and... three mercenaries..."

"Name."

"...urgh...it hurts..."

"Name."

"D-dorius King...leader..." Ruger groaned and then he broke entirely. He throttled against the chair, trying to wrench himself free.

"GET IT OUT!" he shouted hoarsely as the roach crawled through his arm, wriggling into his hand.

The Chiss brought the knife down hard, impaling the insect, his hand and even the chair to which he was tied.

Ruger gasped and moaned as pus erupted from the wound and the roach thrashed about in its death throes.

Soren rose from his seat and circled around Ruger, his ears twitching. Listening for the sound of his heartbeat. 

It didn't lie.

"Thank you, Captain," he said pleasantly. "And don't forget to smile for the audience." 

He glanced up at the transparisteel where the examiners were watching.

"Twenty nine minutes, thirty six seconds," Feddick stopped the timer.

"It's not possible," Huckall spat. "He must have cheated."

"No," Maelstrom said. "He did not."

He keyed the intercom. "Thank you cadet, your score will be posted on the Academy holonet tomorrow. Good day."

The Chiss nodded and stalked away from the prisoner, gliding out of the room the way he had come as the door slid open.

"There's no way you're to going pass this cretin!" Gumshill spat. "He broke protocol on six seperate occassions, led the victim to confess to his own conclusions, there's no way a word of it is true."

"It is not for us to decide whether the confession is false," Maelstrom spoke. "The records will be passed on to Imperial Intelligence and the Sith. They'll decide what to do about Thana Vesh."

"This alien is a joke. He threw out a perfectly good confession in favour of some ludicous notion that Ruger would send his family into Republic space on a whim!" Bronum chuffed.

"There's been no word from the Vesh family for over a week," Feddick piped up suddenly. "They're wanted for questioning about Ruger's activities."

Maelstrom looked over at him and furrowed his brow. 

Then he sighed. 

"He merits a passing grade," he said sternly. "If only for breaking the prisoner where all others failed." 

He flicked at the overlays and tapped a few keys. They lit up green and disappeared as he stared into the torture chamber where Ruger remained restrained in his seat. Whimpering. Shaking.

"Fine, but only just." Gumshill frowned as his scorecard turned green.

"Ridiculous, letting aliens run amok in the Imperial Academy." Bronum keyed in a passing grade.

"Next we'll be examining Rancors with career aptitude tests..." Huckall grumbled as his scorecard displayed the lowest possible passing score.

Feddick's overlays were already closed and Maelstrom quickly tallied the numbers on his sheet. 

"456 points out of a possible 709," he read out. "He passes."

He tapped a few more keys and hit submit, sending the data out into the holonet and closed his terminal. The other examiners did the same and hastily made their way out of the room. 

All except Feddick.

"You got what you wanted," the Headmaster said as he stared out into the chamber.

"I need more operatives, Tormund," the man disguised as Feddick told him. 

"Looks like you got yourself a Keeper," Maelstrom said.

"Yes... That I do..."


End file.
